


you, me, maybe

by vsyubs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Sexual Situations, Feelings Realization, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vsyubs/pseuds/vsyubs
Summary: Wonwoo would have never expected this – any of this – to escalate to such a degree, but that's the way it apparently goes.(Alternate summary: Wonwoo catches Minghao in an incriminating position, battles with the feelings he had already caught, and whines to Seungcheol about it. Minghao, bless him, is just patient enough.)





	you, me, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening to a lot of bolbbalgan while writing this, oddly enough. now i just feel like a sappy sponge.  
> 

**Two-thirty-something in the morning**

Whoever said twilight was a magical time clearly hasn’t stayed up to pull an all-nighter for an overdue assignment, and their second one in a row at that. Actually, Wonwoo isn’t sure if anyone’s ever said that, but at this point of desperation and frustration he’s willing to pull any excuse out of his ass to keep himself somewhat sane.

Submission week is so beautiful, Wonwoo could cry. He really could. He’s literally about to start weeping all over his shit laptop. But if he did that, then that means he wouldn’t be able to turn this essay in. That might be a teeny bit of an inconvenience. He shakes his head, exiting two tabs on the webpage, but as he clicks out of the second one, it hits him that one of the ones he exited might actually be of use. Of course, his brain chooses that _exact_ moment to short-circuit and make him forget how to reopen a closed tab. 

He swears he’s not a bad student. In fact, it’s probably because he’s such a good student that he’s managed to put himself into this situation. “You’re overworking yourself,” they’d say. They meaning his parents and high school teachers and the like two sort-of-friends he’s made since he started uni. And his roommate, who is currently blissfully asleep in the room next door. What luck. Shit. Everyone’s right. He _does_ overwork himself. What good is it going the extra mile on each assignment and doing more readings than required when he’s gonna end up being a big fat disappointment anywa –

Three dull thuds shut his thoughts up. He stiffens, nerves buzzing. He turns around in his seat. Could it be a raccoon attack again? He remembered what a disaster that was. Turned out he and his roommate were _both_ afraid of raccoons. Wonwoo didn’t think Minghao would be afraid of _anything_ , because he’s Minghao. 

There is another thud just then, closely followed by a muffled noise of sorts. Kind of like a cross between a groan and – something else. A sigh? Whatever it is, it sounds way too human, so Wonwoo turns back to his screen, relieved. It’s probably an astral projection of his weary soul. Or, more realistically, just Minghao apparently not sleeping. Maybe he’s got an essay he forgot to do, too. That sucks. Wonwoo sends a telepathic message of sympathy, then goes back to collecting research material. A quick time-check about ten minutes later reveals that it is 2:52. Wonwoo purses his lips. Seems that his initial goal of collecting the maximum number of sources listed on the essay guideline isn’t going to happen. It always bugs him to narrow his research down, but if he wants to get this thing done by five a.m, he’s going to have to do just that. With a click of his tongue, he closes four tabs. 

A sigh is let out; not from him. He squints at the plaster separating his and Minghao’s rooms. These walls are terrible at being walls. He wonders what Minghao’s doing now – wandering the cursed tenth page of Google, maybe? Stuck in the white hellscape that is their university’s resource vault? Rereading the same sentence twenty-five times over trying futilely to make sense of it? He should visit him, see how he’s doing. They could sit side by side in mutual anguish with the whirring of their laptops as background noise. It’s always better to suffer with someone else, after all. He’s sure Minghao wouldn’t mind – they’ve done it before. The last time they did, Wonwoo ended up falling asleep on Minghao's shoulder and caused a pain that lasted a week. 

Leaning back in his chair, he stretches out and grabs his phone that he threw onto the foot of his bed earlier, then sends Minghao a short text letting him know he’s coming. He tucks his laptop under his arm, then gets up and stalks outside into the darkened hallway, towards Minghao’s room. He gives a few quick knocks on the door, and pushes right through. 

  


  


  


  


  


**Not very long ago but not quite just now**

Minghao is emptied of hope. And when he is emptied of hope, he does not sleep. It should likely be the opposite – when you’re so void of emotions, you’d easily succumb to the clutches of slumber. But God made him differently. God makes him stay awake carrying that feeling of lost hope and disappointment well into the wee hours of morning like a sponge or some sort of useless self-critical vegetable. 

He got back an assignment with a bad grade earlier that afternoon, which is an all-too common occurrence that everyone experiences, but it got him down so bad he couldn’t even finish dinner. And he _always_ finishes dinner. He’s sensitive, he admits as much despite denying it outwardly, but it wasn’t the bad grade that upset him – it was that he’d had high expectations for the assignment because of how hard he worked on it. 

In retrospect, it’s foolish to think that hard work will always be rewarded fruitfully on his part, but alas. That’s the kind of bullshit they feed young people to keep them motivated enough to live and find a purpose and, like, oil the wheels of capitalism. Minghao knows that, he does, but he doesn’t _get_ it. Which is why he’s been turning that stuff around in his head, picking it apart and flinging it against walls. Which isn’t great, because all the complaining is just bouncing off his brain and taking up space, having nowhere to go.

And this is the result. Lying like goo in bed. Moping. Dematerialising. Being a sad fuckin’ sack.

There can only be one solution to this build-up of misery. And for that, he has to stop laying around lifelessly. He bolts up, hair sticking up from where he’s rested on it, and breathes out hard. 

He grabs the bottle of lube from the bottom-most drawer of his bedside table. Eyeballing the door, he contemplates whether or not he gives enough fucks at this point in time to lock the door like he would normally.

With his head held high he decides, “Nope,” and wriggles out of his boxers.

  


  


  


  


  


**Now**

Minghao yells, a weird, crooked sound, just as Wonwoo enters the room. 

“It’s just me,” he says through a yawn. The door closes with a click. Smacking his lips, Wonwoo looks around, eyes adjusting to the dim light. 

He almost – _almost_ – lets out a gasp when he sees what he sees. But it gets horribly stuck in his throat, and his eyes go terribly wide. 

“Oh,” he breathes instead. 

He stares – unsure, surprised, shocked. The whole potpourri. 

“ _Ohhh_.” 

A stupid word, but a befitting one for this scenario. 

On the bed, Minghao breathes a little raggedly. His face is flushed, visibly pinkish-red even in the low lighting; the colour trails down his neck in splotches and down to his bare chest where it fades off. 

Wonwoo looks to the right and down. Minghao’s t-shirt, the one Wonwoo saw him wear all day, lays limp and crumpled on the floor. He looks back at Minghao. His mouth goes dry. The lower half of Minghao’s body, from his narrow hips down to his legs, is covered by the blanket. But there is nothing to hide. It is painfully obvious what he was up to before Wonwoo so _rudely_ interrupted. 

Wonwoo looks up to Minghao’s flaming, scandalised glare. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. 

Well. He was right about one thing. Minghao was definitely not asleep.

  


  


  


  


  


It seems like hours before anyone speaks again, and in that timespace, Minghao’s soul packed up its belongings and left his body with no intentions of returning. 

Wonwoo starts with a sharp breath in. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Something snaps in Minghao and he yanks the comforter further up his chest. “Leave.”

Wonwoo doesn’t. He just _stands_ there. “I just – I thought you were doing your essay. So I… did you see the text I sent you? Well, probably not, since… okay.” 

If Minghao didn’t feel the persistent heat of mortification all around his face and neck he’d just assume this was a bad dream. A bad, _bad_ dream. His mind starts blanking the fuck out. “I… I don’t have any essays to do.” 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says. “Congrats.”

Other than the fact that his eyes are screaming with panic, Wonwoo looks and sounds completely normal. To a passerby, it’d just look like a premeditated scene leading up to, like, a conversation. Or casual, vanilla sex. 

Minghao has never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. 

He tries to convince himself that this could be worse. This could be stupider! But really, nothing gets stupider than getting caught mid-fucking wank by your roommate. He should’ve locked the door. He should’ve locked it, sue him, but Wonwoo absolutely did not have to take a goddamn _walk_ at this hour.

He nods accusingly at the laptop nestled in the crook of Wonwoo’s elbow, feeling annoyed and pissed all over again. “Why do you have your laptop with you?” 

Wonwoo regards it with surprise, as if he had forgotten it was there. “Oh, I was gonna… well.” He shrugs and it looks like a seizure. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

Minghao purses his lips. “Okay. Could you –”

“Leave? Totally. I was just about to.” Wonwoo grabs the doorknob with uncharacteristic force, wrenching the door open. “Good night.” 

He swings it closed with a slam, and Minghao’s half-boner dies along with the sound. Wonwoo’s footsteps trail off into the night, and Minghao heaves a heavy sigh. Sagging into himself, he drops his face, nose-first, into his comforter. 

Which cosmic forces aligned this time to conjure up such a situation for him, he wonders. 

Minghao is a man of dignity, but it _probably_ would’ve been preferable if Wonwoo had just got down on his knees and sucked his dick like they were in some crappy erotic B-grade romance novel instead of… whatever the fuck fucking social impediment thing that was. Because, now, not only is Minghao frustrated with his dumb assignment, but also by the fact that his dick had just been murdered in cold blood, which means he can’t do anything about the aforementioned frustration. Fuck his _life_.

His phone buzzes, making him look up. He stares at it for while, contemplating turning it off and sleeping forever, before the feeling of being inappropriately naked overrides his decisions. He pads over to his closet, snatches a clean shirt and boxers out of it and slips into them, then attends to his phone, picking it up from the dresser. He quirks a brow when he sees what it is. 

It’s a text from Wonwoo.

He makes a face. He doesn’t particularly want to read it, but he literally has nothing else better to do. He taps it open, chewing on the inside of his mouth. As per Wonwoo’s mention, he had indeed sent another one earlier, at 2:49 a.m. Minghao reads that one first.

_Are you suffering just as much as I am. I’m coming to see you_

Well. He totally missed _that_. This debacle probably would’ve been avoided if he had seen it. 

…Then again, this debacle wouldn’t even have _occurred_ if Wonwoo just stayed in his room and minded his business. 

Minghao sighs, reading the next one. 

_I’m really sorry I don’t wanna make this weird but I moved to the living room_

Minghao halts. Then re-reads it. 

An apology text. Huh. Minghao frowns, but, at the same time, the corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. He snorts. He reads it again, just for confirmation, then lets out a bark of laughter. 

Who acknowledges their mistake and apologises for it immediately after catching someone masturbate in the dead of night? Wonwoo would. Of course he would. That’s hilarious. And endearing. 

Chuckling quietly despite the weirdness clinging to his chest, Minghao sits back down on the edge of his bed, fingers typing away a response. 

_That was weird for both of us. It’s fine lol_

He adds a thumbs-up emoji at the end, just 'cause. 

  


  


  


  


  


**The next morning**

Wonwoo doesn’t remember going back to his bedroom or falling asleep, but the next thing he knows, he awakens to his phone blaring out his alarm.

 _Brunch with sc,_ the note reads. Ah – right. 

“sc” is Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol. He’s someone who, at the moment, Wonwoo would confidently call his closest friend. He hadn’t actually known the guy on a personal level until uni, but they were each other’s lab partner of choice in their last year of chemistry in high school. It seems, however, that the tangled, mercurial strings of fate decided that they needed a second chance together and had them meet again two years ago in Introduction to Programming. And ever since then, they just kind of stuck. It’s a little weird in Wonwoo’s opinion, because Seungcheol seems like a guy that would fly out of his cage and soar to unattainable and enviable social heights the second high school ended, while Wonwoo is… well, Wonwoo, but he’s glad that they ended up like this. He makes living away from home more bearable. But Seungcheol doesn’t have to know that. 

The cafe they’re planning to go to in the nearby promenade is apparently really good. But Wonwoo can’t seem to understand for the life of him what possessed the two of them to agree to meet at _ten-thirty in the morning_. He’s still exhausted from the memory of his all-nighter last night (also from barely sleeping, but that’s normal). He had _barely_ managed to submit his essay within the allocated extension time; he only had a few seconds to spare. It was terrifying.

But that wasn’t even the worst part, and definitely nothing near to what kept him tossing and turning til the first cracks of early sunlight.

He’s still not over it. He should be, but he isn’t, because that’s just the way he operates. He reckons he’ll tell Seungcheol about it later when they meet. He should know what to do. Maybe.

“Act normal,” Wonwoo tells himself firmly without fully knowing what that means, before climbing out of bed and venturing outside. He’s going to have to come in as unassumingly as possible, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t been kept up pretty much all damn night by it. 

As he enters the kitchen, he zeroes in on Minghao, perched by the sink, and bangs his big toe against the counter. 

Minghao looks up at the groan Wonwoo lets out. “What the...” 

Wonwoo’s head pops out over the counter. Okay, so much for the planned incognito entrance. “Hi.”

“What just happened?” 

Memories of last night flood back in extreme speeds, and in vivid detail to boot. _Just witnessing you in your normal, day-to-day, unsinful state after seeing you last night_ , _that’s all!_

“Nothing.”

Minghao blinks. “M’kay.” He spoons some milk into his mouth. It seems he’s too sleepy to really care. He probably had just woken up as well, sporting a drool stain on one side of his mouth and hair that sticks up in two different places.

It’s so quiet Wonwoo can hear the crunching of cornflakes between Minghao’s perfect teeth. He limps his way to the cupboards to get a glass of water, ignoring the throbbing in his toe. Not that that’s very hard to do, seeing as his mind is preoccupied with this _guy_. This guy, Wonwoo’s roommate of a year, the one he caught jacking off, is calmly sitting there eating breakfast cereal looking like some gangly goblin. How the hell is Wonwoo supposed to deal with that this early in the day?

“What are you up to today?” Minghao asks, and Wonwoo almost walks into the fridge.

“Uhm.” _That was the closest I’ve ever come to seeing your dick and I’m so sorry!!!_ He hastily reaches into the cupboard to grab a glass. “I’m meeting up with Seungcheol,” he says. “For brunch.”

“When?”

He turns on the tap and fills the glass up. “In a bit.”

“Mm… that guy. He’s your high school friend, right?” Minghao’s voice is sleepy and unused. It sounds a bit silly, because his voice is usually higher and kind of on the nasal side, but it’s also somehow kind of sexy. Which – wait. No. _No_.

Wonwoo takes a long sip of water and swallows before answering. “Yep.” 

A small frown dashes Minghao’s forehead as he begins to stare Wonwoo down. Wonwoo glances at him. 

“What?” 

Minghao tilts his head. “You look really tired. I mean way more than usual. Are you okay?” 

Wonwoo moves to put the glass into the sink. “Didn’t sleep very well,” he says. Conveniently, flashes of Minghao’s smooth, narrow chest and flushed face pop up in his head, and the glass slips out of his hand to clatter against an unwashed plate.

Minghao snorts. “Clearly.”

Wonwoo blushes for more reasons than one. “Shut up.”

The concern returns to Minghao’s voice. “Sure you’re okay?” 

“Dandy.”

Minghao gives him one last look. “Alright.” 

Ah, the ever-attentive Minghao. Wonwoo usually finds his eagle-eyed concern a little stifling at worst, but today, it’s downright nerve-wracking. How is he acting so _casually_? He sent him a thumbs-up as a reply to his post-accident text last night (which, now that he thinks about it, was _such_ a weird thing to do, he should’ve just not said anything), but Wonwoo is anything but placated. Should he bring it up? Should he talk things over, smooth things out, confirm that he won’t be forever traumatised by it? 

“Hey,” Wonwoo blurts out, immediately regretting it. Minghao raises his brows in response, and he panics. “I… think we ran out of milk,” he says. Good save. “I might be wrong. But I’m pretty sure I’m not.” 

“Really? I thought we still had a full carton.” Minghao swallows his cereal. “I'll check later.” 

“'Kay.” Wonwoo rushes out of there before he can make an even bigger fool of himself.

Locking himself in his bedroom, he breathes, sagging against the door. He needs some time away from Minghao. He needs to collect his scattered thoughts, group them into sections and make sense of them, and to answer the question: _Why am I so irrationally worked up over this????_

Jeon “Pigeonhole” Wonwoo, is his middle name, if he had a middle name.

  


  


  


  


  


Unfortunately, as he finds out later, _Brunch with sc_ doesn’t exactly help him with anything. 

“ _That’s_ news?” The man in question lets out a series of haughty laughter. The cafe they’re in is full of old people and Wonwoo feels a little out of place and the food and drinks are incredibly underwhelming. But Seungcheol doesn’t seem to care. Which is putting Wonwoo in an even worse mood. “My dude, you have been living your college life all wrong. I walked in on my flatmate pulling his turkey in the shower in the second _week_.”

Wonwoo grimaces. “Don’t… don’t call it that, please.”

“He was so quiet. And he didn’t have the shower curtains drawn. I wasn’t like super freaked out or anything, but –”

Wonwoo cuts him off with a short laugh. “Not _all_ of us wanted to catch their roommate tugging his dick because we have the hots for them, okay.”

Seungcheol stops picking out pieces of lettuce from his ham sandwich to glare at Wonwoo. “Are you saying I do?”

“Are you saying you don’t?”

Seungcheol blushes. “Wh – wha –”

“For everything wrong you say to me, I have at least three pieces of blackmail info about you that I can and will use liberally.”

“Well what the shit do you want me to say? My condolences, I weep for thy virgin eyes that have been soiled by the vivid image of your roommate masturbating?” Seungcheol ignores the scandalised looks some patrons and the barista (and Wonwoo) give him, shaking his head. “Dude, get over it. Me and Jihoonie? We talked about it for like two seconds, then shook hands like it was nothing. I got him waffles for dinner after. It was fine. You gotta _chill_.” Seungcheol takes a bite out of his sandwich. “Your roomie’s that cutie, right?” he asks while chewing. “Real twiggy but like toned as hell?” 

Wonwoo folds his arms across his chest. “His name’s Minghao.”

“Oh, you’re _blushing_! And _I’m_ the one who has the hots for _my_ roomie?”

“Would you be quiet?” Wonwoo lowers his voice in panic when he sees people tutting and shaking their heads. “And that’s not the only –”

“It could’ve been someone worse, right?” His volume remains unchanged and brash. “Could’ve been someone butt-ugly. Also, you said you didn’t actually see his you-know-what, so I really don’t know –”

“Hey buddy,” a gruff voice suddenly calls out, “if you’re gonna be loud, maybe do it outside.”

“Yeah Wonwoo, do it outside,” Seungcheol snaps. Realisation hits him a mere two seconds later. “Oh.”

The barista that kicked the two of them out shortly after looked like she was trying really hard not to yell at them or knee them in the balls. Wonwoo silently applauds her for that.

Seungcheol shakes his head, directing glares at the patrons still inside. “People are so sensitive these days,” he grumbles. 

Wonwoo shoots him an incredulous look. “They were trying to eat.”

“And _I_ was trying to give you important life advice.”

"Oh were you?" Wonwoo shakes his head, going to his happy place and thinking about the cat videos he had watched earlier this morning in lieu of shaving. 

“It’s hot as _baaaalls_ ,” Seungcheol groans. 

Wonwoo’s four seconds of peace snaps in half, and he sighs, squinting up at the sky. “Yeah.” Tugging at his shirt to create some air, he looks over to Seungcheol. “Why are you still eating that thing?”

“‘Cause I paid for it.” Seungcheol eyes him. “Where’d your drink go?”

“Left it. It wasn’t good.” 

“It was like ten bucks.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t good.” 

They start to head down the busy promenade, heat, noises, and colours filling their senses. It’s the beginnings of summer, and their first term as third years has reached a peak of hardships and difficulties. Wonwoo envies how unchanging the promenade is, despite the different things happening to it each passing day and year. He wishes he could be half as sturdy.

“Oh!” Seungcheol lands a slap on Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

“ _Ow_.” 

“We should get ice cream!”

“Where would we…” Wonwoo trails off as he follows Seungcheol’s gaze. “Oh.”

As it were, an ice cream truck sits pretty in the distance, its pristine whiteness almost blinding under the sun’s mighty glare. 

“God? Is that you?” he mumbles. 

The two of them head over and eagerly get into queue. 

“I feel like a kid again,” Seungcheol says, staring up at the menu. 

Cherry Bomb Supreme, Fruity Delight, Chocolate Dream, Cha-Cha Heaven… Wonwoo bursts into laughter, pointing one name out with a finger. “Seungcheol, look.”

“What?”

“Honey Crunch was Soonyoung’s stage name in his high school band.”

“Soonyoung?”

“Yeah, remember him?”

Soonyoung and Wonwoo had a great two years in high school full of chaotic, nerdy energy. Despite having drifted apart, Wonwoo could never forget the kid or his four-piece ska band. They found each other on Instagram recently.

“Ohhh!” Seungcheol seems to remember as well, eyes widening excitedly. “Yeah, his band! Wait, that’s hilarious. I didn’t know they had stage names.”

“They weren’t exactly popular,” Wonwoo says, laughing. 

“Who wasn’t popular?” 

A voice, seemingly out of nowhere, cuts in, making Wonwoo turn. 

"What the..."

It’s Minghao, in the flesh, looking a little sweaty. He looks more alive and put together than when Wonwoo saw him earlier, hair styled and pushed away from his forehead. 

Wonwoo blinks, glancing at the dangly earring on his left lobe. “Why are you here?”

That seemed to upset Minghao. “What do you mean by that?”

“Minghao, hey, man!” Seungcheol says, stepping between Wonwoo and Minghao. 

“Oh, hi.” Minghao lets himself get pulled into a hug. He’s smiling when they part. “Seungcheol? Did I get that right?”

“You got that perfect. You look great, dude.”

“Speak for yourself.” 

“Spell it out for me?” Seungcheol throws him a wink.

“Keep it in your pants, man," Wonwoo interjects. Does Seungcheol just have no shame and way too much libido? "Did you follow me here?” he asks Minghao.

The smile on Minghao’s face warps into a scowl when he looks at Wonwoo. Somehow, Wonwoo feels a pang of insult. “Why would I do that? I came home after doing groceries and got bored, so I took a walk. I wasn’t out here looking for you. Also, you lied to me about the milk. We still had two whole cartons.”

Seungcheol snickers. “Wonwoo got you running errands?” 

“What? No way. I do my own. Wonwoo couldn’t make me his errand bitch if he tried.”

Seungcheol bursts out cackling, clapping gleefully. “Errand bitch!”

Wonwoo puts a hand on his hip. “Um, I absolutely could.” 

“Oh yeah?” Minghao challenges.

Wonwoo would like to elaborate on his defense, but he keeps getting distracted by the muscles in Minghao’s arms, taut and defined. He’s always been kind of a gym-rat, so it’s no surprise, really, but it manages to always put him in a state of awe.

 ~~ __~~ _Those are the arms he has used to jack off._ He frowns. _Well, it’s more likely that it’s just one of them. His right one, probably. He’s right handed, right? But how is he_ that _toned? He couldn’t have gotten all that muscle definition just from_ –

He stops himself before his thoughts gets darker. He looks away, shaking his head. “Whatever.” 

“Keep trying, Wonwoo, I support you,” Seungcheol says. Wonwoo flips him off. 

“You two getting ice cream?” Minghao asks.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says. “It’s way too hot today. I think it’s the hottest day we’ve had all month?”

“Mm, I’ve felt worse,” Wonwoo says. 

“Aw, look at us old old men, chatting about the weather,” Minghao says.

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s always topical.”

“It’s always _tropical_ ,” Wonwoo says. In response, Seungcheol lets out a noise of disgust and Minghao lifts a hand as if to slap him. “That was good, right?” he asks, grinning. “I’d say it was pretty good.” 

“I hate it,” Minghao says. 

“Well, my jokes aren’t made for certain people.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo says. “What do you think I’m trying to say?”

“Nothing.” 

“It was shit, man,” Seungcheol says. 

Wonwoo puts a hand to his mouth. “How could you? You’re my friend.”

“That’s exactly why he’s saying such a thing,” Minghao chimes in.

“And who asked you, exactly?” 

Seungcheol places an arm in between their torsos, looking worriedly between the two of them. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you guys are serious about fighting or not. It’s scary.”

“Oh, he adores me, really,” Minghao says, keeping eye contact with Wonwoo, who’s trying to look away. 

“Ha, ha, ha.” 

Minghao smiles cutely and pats him in the chest. “It’s in there, don’t deny it.”

“I am uncomfortable.”

Seungcheol snorts. “You two are like… like, you know those couples, right? The ones that are always arguing on screen but you know there’s some sweet tender lovin’ underneath all that. That’s literally you guys.”

That was _uncalled_ for. Wonwoo lets out a laugh of panic. “What part of Minghao is sweet or tender?”

Minghao shakes his head. “You’re on drugs, man.”

“Only on the best one.”

“Life?”

“Weed.”

Wonwoo makes a noise of disgust. To his side, Minghao laughs. The sound is nothing Wonwoo’s never heard of before, but it sends a new feeling, a fluttery feeling, creeping into his guts.

What was it Seungcheol said? “Pretty fuckin’ cute”? 

“Oh,” Minghao says behind him, shattering his thoughts. “You’re up next.” He brings a hand up to the small of Wonwoo’s back to guide him. At the touch, Wonwoo tenses up, and he swats Minghao's hand away without really meaning to. 

“No need to push,” he clips. 

“I wasn’t,” Minghao says. 

Wonwoo looks behind Minghao. “Could you step back a bit?”

He doesn’t miss the weirded out glance Minghao throws at him before taking a step back. He doesn’t exactly blame him. It’s surprising that that shocked him so much; Minghao’s always been a little cuddly, a little touchy, and over the course of a year Wonwoo’s gotten used to the occasional pat and hug. So what’s different now? 

_Yeah, Wonwoo, what’s different now?_

...Seungcheol’s right. It _is_ really hot.

  


  


  


  


  


“We should go to the pier,” Minghao suggests. They’re walking down the promenade, not really knowing where to go. It’s been about five minutes of them just aimlessly trudging along under the sun, nursing their treats. 

“The pier?” Seungcheol asks.

“Yeah.” 

Minghao’s popsicle is starting to melt at the top. The red of it matches his tank top and complements his black sandals and Wonwoo isn’t sure if he meant to do that or not. Knowing Minghao, it’s very likely he did, but, as much of a purposeful and conscious person he is, sometimes he does things unintentionally and makes it work somehow. 

“It’s too hot,” Seungcheol says. “We should go to that arcade instead. Remember, Wonwoo? The one we went to two weeks ago? That was bomb.” 

“Uh…” Wonwoo says. He doesn’t. “Yeah?”

“I beat you so hard at DDR, and then you somehow won the basketball game.”

“Oh, of course. I remember my well-deserved and surprising victory.”

“My _ass_ , it was rigged.” 

“Was not.” 

“There’s a nineties-themed arcade at the pier,” Minghao says. “And it’s only five minutes away.”

Seungcheol pouts. “But my feet are _delicate_.”

Wonwoo tosses his ice cream wrapper into a bin. “I wish your heart was just as delicate.”

“What? Please. I’m super delicate. I’m all over delicate. Girls tell me that all the time. Boys, too. They’re all like, oh, Seungcheol, you big softie…”

“ _Big softie_?” Wonwoo repeats.

“Might as well start calling me DJ Delicacy.”

“That kind of has a nice ring to it,” Minghao says, humouring him.

Wonwoo frowns. “Delicacy isn’t the same thing as delicate.”

Minghao rolls his eyes and nudges Wonwoo, making him stumble. To Seungcheol, he says, “You don’t have to come with us.”

Seungcheol perks up. “I don’t?”

“Yeah. Me and Wonwoo can go together, and then we can all meet up somewhere later.” He looks over at Wonwoo, as if asking for permission, or approval.

“I mean… I don’t see why not.” Wonwoo turns to Seungcheol just so he can stop looking at Minghao. “Sure. Whatever.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, evaporate,” Wonwoo says. “Where will you be?” 

“Wow, okay, you wanna be alone with Minghao, we get it. Uh, I’ll prolly just go to Joshua’s or something. I think he has weed. Have fun, lovebirds.” Seungcheol begins jogging backwards to the opposite direction, waving with a big grin on his face. “Don’t get sunburned!” 

Wonwoo cups his hand around his mouth. “I hope your ice cream gives you food poisoning!”

Minghao does the same. “I miss you, Seungcheol!” 

“Actually, I kinda miss you, too!” Wonwoo says, as an afterthought. 

As they stand there watching Seungcheol get smaller and smaller in the distance, Wonwoo becomes acutely aware of the comment he left them with. 

He wonders what Minghao thinks of it. Probably nothing. 

...Yeah. Nothing. Which is exactly what _he_ should be thinking about. He shifts his weight to his other leg, shaking his head.

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

Minghao snickers. “You want me to name just one thing?” 

“Wow, you're mean.” 

“No I’m not.”

With the early noon sun frying the tops of their heads, they set off.

  


  


  


  


  


When Minghao and Wonwoo hang out, they’d go to the cafe at the shopping center twenty minutes away from home. And every time they do, it’s always quiet, in a pleasant sort of way. Not because they’re in a cafe, but because it’s just the way it goes. Conversations would take place in small fragments, lapsing into comfortable silences every now and again, and at first Wonwoo thought it was because Minghao was shy – but it’s not that. He simply isn’t a person of many words. He enjoys moments internally, and would occasionally point out things of interest. Sometimes, they’d even get into small debates, just back-and-forth, sudden shooting of opinions. Wonwoo’s used to hanging out and being friends with people that are louder than he is, so it was a time period of a little bit of adjustment. But he finds, eventually, that he enjoys his time with Minghao. He isn’t someone Wonwoo would call “fun”, but he isn’t boring, and it’s never awkward. He’s Minghao, and that suits Wonwoo just fine. 

But now… _now_ …

“Your popsicle matches your clothes,” Wonwoo points out. While it wouldn’t usually bother him in the least, the silence is getting a bit too thick for his liking today. 

Minghao looks down at himself. “Oh, it does,” he says. “Good job, me.” 

Now, there’s something weird, something akin to tension that he _really_ doesn’t want to uncover. It’s most probably felt only on his part. Which is dumb and irrational. And Wonwoo doesn’t do irrational. 

“Did you do that on purpose?” Wonwoo asks. 

Minghao laughs a little. “Why would I?” He gives his popsicle a broad lick from the base to the top. Then he turns it to its side and sucks the juice off, lips wrapping tightly around the length. 

Wonwoo belatedly looks away, clearing his throat. “What’s there to do on the pier anyway?” 

“You mean you’ve never been?” 

Wonwoo can picture the incredulous look Minghao’s sending him, can imagine his usually pink lips being the colour of beets. “No.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Five years.”

“Wow, dude. Well, the pier’s really pretty,” Minghao says. “There’s actually not much to do but walk around and enjoy the view, but that’s what makes it appealing, in my opinion. The city’s always so busy, you know? So loud and full… the pier’s a nice break from all that. There’s little booths selling food and trinkets, and some shops and cafes, too. And it’s always a little windier than the city. It gets crowded during festivals and fairs, but that doesn’t happen often, so it’s the perfect place to go to if you want some quiet time.” He hums, thinking. “Oh, and, like I said, there’s that really cool arcade.” 

Wonwoo nods. He will never ever say this out loud, unless maybe if he’s held at gunpoint, but he enjoys how Minghao always speaks about things he likes as if he dreamt about them. He bites off a piece of the ice cream cone. “Let’s check the arcade out,” he says. “I’m not much of a beach person, actually. Or a seaside person.”

“The arcade’s cool, you’ll like it. Ahh, my popsicle’s melting.” Minghao ducks to lick juice off his knuckles, a furrow between his brows. 

“It’s been melting all day,” Wonwoo says. 

“I know,” he says sadly, wiping his hand on the back of his pants. He looks a little thoughtful, like he’s getting ready to say something important. “I like beaches,” he says. “But I’m a little scared of the ocean.”

Wonwoo snorts. 

First raccoons, now the ocean. What else is Minghao afraid of?

“It’s so big,” he says, voice peaking in the way it does when he’s amazed at something. “How is one thing that big?” 

“It’s finite.”

“It may as well not be.” Minghao shakes his head. “It’s too deep, man. We haven’t discovered even half of it.”

“But it’s not... it doesn't have the same weight as space. Space is endless. The ocean isn’t.” 

“Well, space is space. Ocean is ocean. You can’t compare the two like that.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m just trying to give you perspective.”

“You have to take things as they are sometimes.” Minghao pauses to take a small, dainty bite. “What if there’s nothing else but that one thing?” he asks, chewing just as daintily, gesturing with one hand. “What if there’s nothing else to compare it to?”

The gaze he sends Wonwoo is bright and inquisitive, and yet, a wisdom overrides it all. 

“Hm,” Wonwoo says. “Good point.”

Minghao looks away, seemingly satisfied. “You know," he pipes up, after a moment of silence, "I used to live with my aunt back in high school. We’d go to the pier almost every weekend.”

Wonwoo looks to him. “Is that another reason why you like the pier so much?” 

Minghao shrugs shyly. “Yeah. It’s kind of my special place.”

Wonwoo thinks for a moment. “I suppose mine would be the park near the shopping center.”

“That?” Minghao tilts his head. “It’s a little…”

“It’s a shithole,” Wonwoo says, and Minghao laughs and pushes him lightly. 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“It’s true. But I spent a lot of time there in high school with my friends, so I can’t help but like it.” He remembers one particular afternoon that involved a game of tipsy tag, and smiles a little. “Odd how we romanticise places solely because of the things we did there.”

“Or because of the people you’re with,” Minghao says. 

He looks at Wonwoo then, and it’s kind of intense, but in a gentle way, tender as it is piercing. And Wonwoo, however taken aback and rattled, cannot tear his gaze away. The surrounding noises seem to fade away to nothing more than gurgles and mumbles. His head buzzes funnily. 

Wonwoo swallows lightly. “Or that.” 

Before he can really register anything, Minghao breaks eye contact, and the moment disappears. 

Wonwoo has never had many movie moments in life, but he does watch a lot of movies. And that right there, that thing just now? That felt way too strongly like a snippet out of some teen drama. 

Minghao reaches into the pocket of his pants with a rustle, and places an upturned palm underneath Wonwoo’s nose. On it is a pack of cough candy. Wonwoo blinks down at it. “Strepsil?”

“Uh. No thanks.” He frowns, looking up at Minghao. The brown of his eyes is startlingly soft. “You carry Strepsils around?”

“Yeah. You never know.”

“You do you, I guess,” he mumbles. He doesn’t realise he’s zoned out until Minghao snaps his fingers in front of his face moments later. 

“Oi,” he says, voice sharp. “Watch the road.”

Wonwoo scrunches his nose. “I am.”

The air between them is sprinkled with _something_. Wonwoo thinks it’s just the humidity. Maybe. He doesn’t exactly specialise in meteorology. 

He looks up at Minghao, a surge of intensity filling his chest, sudden. Minghao tilts his head in question. 

_What’s up?_

Wonwoo opens his mouth – 

“Oh, are you kidding me?” 

Angrily, Minghao looks away towards his popsicle before Wonwoo could get a word out, grumbling as it drips all over his fingers and wrists again.

Wonwoo blinks at the distance, as if snapping out of a trance. He isn’t sure what he was going to say.

  


  


  


  


  


**Post-lunch the next day, around two p.m**

“Hey, you like pandas, right?”

“Uh.” Wonwoo is too focused on the television. “Yeah.”

Minghao scoots nearer and rests his head on his lap. It works. Wonwoo stops staring at the wildebeests. “Look.” He tilts his phone screen up towards him. On screen, a bunch of baby pandas are stumbling around. One of them loses balance and falls but is caught just in time by an attendee.

“Oh…” Wonwoo says, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve seen this video.” 

“Look at that one!” Minghao points excitedly at another one that fell over. “These baby pandas were the result of breeding efforts. They’re officially not endangered anymore.” 

“Ah, yeah, I’ve read about that online.” 

“That makes me happy. They’re so cute.” 

Wonwoo nods. “It’s great news.”

“It is. You know –” 

“Sorry, I need to get a glass of water.”

“Sure.” Minghao peels himself away from Wonwoo. He immediately jumps out of his seat and walks off. Except… 

Minghao stares after him, puzzled. Wonwoo’s not going into the kitchen – he’s headed straight for his bedroom. 

“Uh, kitchen’s over that way…?” 

“Hm?” Wonwoo halts in his steps and briefly looks over his shoulder at Minghao. “Ah. Did I say I needed water? I meant a nap.” 

Minghao rises from his seat a little. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired. Pooped, if you will. Don't worry about me." Wonwoo waves a dismissive hand, turning away. "Good night.” 

Over the sound of the documentary playing on TV, Minghao hears the door click shut. He purses his lips, frowning. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” he mumbles. 

  


  


  


  


  


**Around six p.m (the next evening)**

Tuesdays are the worst. Tuesdays are when Minghao has his photography-specific classes and he always gets home from them exhausted – not because they’re boring, but because he has no friends to share them with. Vernon majors in econ and Mingyu’s doing architecture, and they’ve each got their own classes besides their shared ones. He hasn’t interacted with or talked to anyone all _day_ and it’s been killing him slowly. But he isn’t actually inclined to make buddies with art kids, so he supposes he deserves to suffer. Going home to Wonwoo becomes his favourite part of the day.

(It’s always been the case ever since they met, but that’s besides the point.)

“Wonwoo?”

He sets the pizza box he was carrying in a plastic bag onto the kitchen counter. He picked it up after class at the cafe, half-impulsively. Vernon was working the shift at the time and they made eye contact through the window – Minghao couldn’t just walk off. He wasn’t raised in a barn.

“You never order pizza from here,” Vernon remarked. 

“Yeah, I dunno, thought I’d share it with Wonwoo tonight. We’ve never done it before.”

“Ahhh.” Vernon grinned, handing him his change. “Date night?” 

Minghao had the decency to let out a snort, pocketing the money and grabbing the pizza box. “Whatever you say.”

…Vernon wasn’t exactly far from the truth. Minghao just likes to deny things. A nice relaxing night with Wonwoo, pizza, and a documentary or a movie… that’s what he was hoping to do this evening. He’s exhausted and in need of social interaction – he deserves as much.

“Wonwoo?” Minghao walks down the hallway when he gets no response, peeking into the bathroom. There’s no one in there. He looks away, towards Wonwoo’s room. The door’s closed. “Wonwoo…?” he repeats, walking closer. “Are you in there? I have pizza.” He gives three light knocks. He waits, but there’s only silence on the other end. He tries again, but still, nothing. He might be napping. Minghao clicks his tongue. 

Wonwoo was notorious for missing dinners because he’d been too deep into his napping, and only when Minghao got comfortable enough around him to wake him up and nag him about it did his behaviour change. Honestly, Minghao wouldn't be surprised if he slipped back into that old terrible habit, though. 

Minghao opens the door, ready to reprimand him some, and sticks his head inside. But words die in his throat when he finds that Wonwoo isn’t on the bed.

He tilts his head. “Huh.”

He steps inside fully, leaving the door ajar. 

He’s been in Wonwoo’s room a couple times before, though never for too long. It’s usually Wonwoo that joins him in _his_ room and spends time there (mostly when they’re stressing out over assignments), so this feels like new territory, even though it isn’t. Slowly walking around, he can hear running water from the ensuite. Guess he isn’t asleep after all. That’s a relief.

Minghao's eyes begin to sweep across the room. There isn’t much to look at, really. Wonwoo’s walls are bare, and so is his bedside table, save for a lamp. His phone lays in the middle of his bed, unmade. A pair of jeans with the belt still looped in it splays out on the floor. His desk is relatively neat, albeit a little dusty; Minghao makes a mental note to do a wipe-down of all surfaces in this house when he gets the time. Bending over, Minghao picks the jeans up, pulls the belt free and tosses it away. He belatedly notices the pair of boxers stuck inside and nearly drops it – but doesn’t. He drapes the jeans over his arm, leaving the boxers in there. It’s a miracle how Wonwoo survives without a laundry basket. As it were, a pile of presumably dirty clothes rests on one corner of the room. Minghao shakes his head. He’s going to have to remind Wonwoo of that. 

Deciding that he’s done here, Minghao starts walking out to put the jeans in the wash. But then –

He stops. He doesn’t really _mean_ to. It’s one of those knee-jerk reaction the body does when it sees or hears something out of the blue. And Minghao definitely heard _something_. 

His mind’s telling him to not linger, but it’s also telling him to stay and listen. So… he does. Because he can’t help it. And because it’s Wonwoo that made that noise, a noise he’s never heard him make before. 

A moan. 

Deep and echoey, it bounces off the walls of the bathroom and prevails over the steady gush of water. It’s so _clear_ despite being slightly muted, and Minghao feels his face and body heat up when Wonwoo does it again. Minghao can picture him with one hand braced against the wall, the other around his dick as water runs rivulets along his hair and down his back making him shiver, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack as he –

Minghao jerks away from where he’s leaned closer into the wall, heart beating loudly in his chest. God, what is he – what’s _wrong_ with him? In a fit of panic he tosses the jeans onto the floor, then struts out the door and closes it as quietly as he can.

His mind races with guilt as he speed-walks down the hallway and into the living room. All he wanted was to check up on him. For what it’s worth… at least they’re even?

“Wow, you’re crazy,” Minghao half-yells. 

He’s fine. It’s cool. He opens the pizza box and helps himself.

It's _cool_.

About two hours later, Minghao emerges from his room to go get a glass of water. He can hear the television as he pads down the hallway. Wonwoo’s on the couch lying sideways, fixated on it. His glasses are perched on his nose. 

“Hey,” Minghao says, advancing towards the couch. Something makes him stop before he can get to Wonwoo, though, and he ends up hovering to the side.

Wonwoo glances his way. “You’re back.”

“I was here hours ago.”

“Oh." Wonwoo lets out a yawn. "Didn’t hear you.”

Minghao rubs his arm. “I got pizza. It’s in the kitchen. It’s gone cold now, probably.”

“Ah.”

“I ate some earlier but there’s still five slices left. Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet.” Wonwoo sniffs and rubs his nose. Minghao frowns. 

“Are you sick?”

“No, just not hungry.”

“Well, you should still eat someth –”

“I’m good,” Wonwoo insists. Minghao stares at the few strands of hair that stick up on top of Wonwoo’s head. He sends him another sideways glance, barely there. “Don’t worry.”

On TV, the lioness feeds on the antelope, proud of her hard-earned hunt, and Wonwoo lets out a low "ooh". Minghao grows indignant; it sparks inside him, all over, clenching his fist and hardening his jaw. “Fine.”

He turns and walks back towards his room. He neglects the water. 

  


  


  


  


  


**The next day (Seungcheol’s place)**

“You like him. I knew it. I called it. You like Minghao.”

Wonwoo laughs humourlessly, taking a sip of his beer. “That’s really funny.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and chugs the rest of his. He wipes the back of his mouth, setting the can down onto the table while letting out a belch. “I wanted to say that when you told me about the whole jacking off thing but I didn’t wanna freak you out.” When Wonwoo remains silent, he continues, “You have feelings for him, man!” leaning back into the couch.

Wonwoo stares at the game’s pause screen on TV. He likes being validated, but this is a validation he does not want. He sullenly swallows mouthfuls of beer. 

“I’d say fuck it out.”

Wonwoo spits all the beer in his mouth. 

Seungcheol watches it dribble all down his chin and t-shirt. “Wow.”

“What are you even suggesting –” 

“You don’t _have_ to,” Seungcheol says, “but you know you wanna. Your face tells me you’ve beat it to him at least twice. Oh, you’re blushing again.”

Wonwoo yanks out tissues from the tissue box and stuffs some down his t-shirt. He uses the rest to wipe his mouth and chin dry. “I’m leaving.”

“What?” Seungcheol says, straightening up. “But… but you said best two out of three!”

“Yeah, well, I lie sometimes.” Wonwoo gets onto his feet and starts walking out the door. Seungcheol follows him.

“Coward, you can’t even face your own feelings for Minghao,” he says. Wonwoo pulls the door open as he slips into his sandals. “At least tell me I’m right!” 

Wonwoo waves goodbye, then shuts the door in his face. 

  


  


  


  


  


**The next next day (Minghao’s headspace)**

It keeps happening. 

Minghao has tried to not make a big deal out of it, but it keeps _happening_ , and it’s making him make a big deal out of it. 

At first, he thinks Wonwoo’s going through a tough time, and that’s why he’s being avoidant. Minghao can totally understand that. Whenever he’s neck deep in problems, he’d prefer to be given some space until he can find a way to resolve it somehow, and maybe Wonwoo is the same. 

In an attempt to cheer him up, or at least take his mind off of whatever is troubling him, he asked him to play rounds of Smash Bros with him – but it never seemed to work. Wonwoo would always turn him down, saying he’s either busy or tired. Tired? Sure. But busy? With what? Surely not with assignments – submission week’s over. And Wonwoo might be somewhat of a workaholic but it is a known secondary fact that he is a _sucker_ for classic Nintendo games. Him refusing to play even ten minutes of Smash? Unrealistic. And worrying. Just a little. Okay, a lot. 

So then Minghao extended invitations to him to have lunch several times. He asked him if he wanted to go to the the pier again. He asked him to do groceries with him. He even asked if he wanted to go shopping with him and Mingyu, knowing full-well he’d never say yes. And, as expected, that offer was turned down, along with all the other ones, and Minghao always ended up going alone, wondering if he did something wrong, wondering if Wonwoo is starting to hate him as a person and a roommate, and then getting annoyed about it because what the fuck did he ever do to him? If Wonwoo dislikes him so much he should start opening that mouth and _talk_. Minghao's partial to bluntness.

Eventually, he gave up. And Wonwoo kept avoiding him like it’s his God-given task.

He’s not even going to go into the whole thing of him liking Wonwoo. Because that’s got absolutely _nothing_ to do with how worked up over this he is at _all_! Except – it does. Greatly. His heart is riddled with romance-fuelled doubt. He’s suffering, really. Going through all the possible reasons Wonwoo could be avoiding him is tiring, but, at the same time, he doesn’t want to confront him straight up, because it’d breach his own rules about being left alone. Yelling into pillows doesn’t help – he’d only ended up with a sore throat. 

He would feel _tons_ better if Wonwoo would just talk to him about whatever the hell is bothering him. Is that hypocritical of him? Indeed. But is he that unreliable that Wonwoo would rather shut him off and avoid him? God, come to think of it… is this their first ever feud? They’re not even fighting _with_ each other. Ridiculous.

Maybe he should take up yoga like Mingyu jokingly suggested. That way, he’d have something to do, and he’d be giving Wonwoo more space, since his absence seems to calm him down.

The fact of it bums Minghao out. Try as he might to just let it go, it really, really bums him out.

  


  


  


  


  


**A week or so later**

_Hey Wonwoo, how are you?_

_Hey there, imaginary detached neutral voice that resides in my head, thanks for asking. I’m generally alright in the default, automated sense that everyone in this world is “alright”. For the past week I’ve been avoiding any and all interactions with my roommate because I am a coward who has trouble with my biggest newfound revelation, which is my apparent crush regarding said roommate. It’s a little scary to process my emotions in this way._

It’s been a week since Wonwoo started avoiding Minghao. Nothing went down, really, apart from Wonwoo’s walls of sanity and rational thinking, which is a bad thing, but in that time he’s become more self-aware of his attraction to Minghao. Which is… a good thing? Probably? He’s still very on the fence about that one. But it’s not as bad as having denied it for one whole year, as Seungcheol indirectly made him realise. God, he’s wise sometimes.

Denial, Wonwoo has learned, is an easy costume to put on, but a hard one to carry around for too long. It’d be better for him to shed it completely. That doesn’t make the process any easier, though. But he has to start.

So, today is the day he will stop being an avoidant weirdo dickhead to Minghao. There is absolutely no feeling worse than being avoided, Wonwoo knows from firsthand experience, and he doesn’t want this whole thing to escalate into anything big or messy. His and Minghao's friendship has never been like that, and he'd like to keep it as such. After a quick session of sudoku on his phone to calm himself down, he heads for the living room where he knows Minghao would be. He had heard him come home from class two hours ago, and, soon after, heard his work playlist purl through the air – a niche compilation of jazzy tunes and classical music. That means he’s doing work, but not _work_ work. Something more hands-on, usually, and not laptop-inclined. 

And it seems his hunch was right. When he enters, Minghao’s cross-legged on the floor, in front of the TV, coffee table pushed away to make room for him and a sheet of paper wider than he is. Balanced on his thigh is a stack of photographs; he holds one down onto the paper with his left hand, completely focused on sticking bits of aluminium foil around it. A bottle of glue stands uncapped and upright by his foot next to a pair of scissors atop a pile of small aluminium foil pieces. His unstyled hair is flat against his head, pin-straight, and on his lips is a semi-permanent pout of concentration as he hums sporadically to parts of the song playing. 

A photography project. Wonwoo remembers him mentioning it during dinner, but he had been too wrapped up in his own turmoil to really listen. Damn, he really was being an ass. Wonwoo tiptoes over to lie down on the couch, old springs creaking like they always do. Minghao looks up. 

“Oh,” he says, blinking. He looks like he wants to say something, but looks back down at his project instead. 

“Hello.” 

Minghao throws a glance at him. “Did you want to watch TV?” 

“No.” Rolling over onto his back, Wonwoo drapes a hand over his forehead. “I think I need to be euthanised.”

Minghao pauses. “Come again?”

“I need to be euthanised.” He turns to his side to face Minghao, who’s now watching him with a wary yet amused expression. “Quickly, there isn’t much more of this suffering I can take.”

Minghao giggles, silvery as always, but a bit hesitant around the edges. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Ouch. Wonwoo isn’t sure if Minghao meant for that to be an actual dig or a harmless joke, but, either way, he felt that. And deserves it. “I feel like I’m fucking dying.”

“Wow, you swore. Must be serious.” Minghao picks up his bottle of glue and dots it onto one piece of foil. 

Wonwoo closes his eyes. “It is.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Restless.” 

“Mm.”

The violins crescendo into a climax. For a while it rattles the floorboards as the two of them fall silent once more. 

“I really wasn't sick, by the way,” Wonwoo says when it eventually dies down.

“Good to know, because I really thought I'd be dealing with the premature death of my roommate.”

Wonwoo grins, albeit confusedly. “What?”

“You know when... mm. Never mind. It's weird.”

“No, what?”

“I said never mind."

“The way you're panicking and avoiding to elaborate further is making me want to make you elaborate further."

“Well, you'll regret it if you do," Minghao says, placing the photograph away and replacing it with a new one.

He missed this. He missed the easy flow of words between them, the way Minghao calms him down even when he doesn't intend to. In saying that, the mad beating of his heart is seriously going to make him puke. Crushes truly don't get easier the more you're aware of it.

Wonwoo shrugs, relenting. "Fine."

"I was gonna compare you to a dying cat." In true Minghao fashion, he suddenly admits to his motives.

And, as it usually goes, Wonwoo is speechless. "Uh..."

"You know how it avoids everyone it knows when it's close to death?"

"Um. Yes." He sounds so serious that Wonwoo doesn't know whether to laugh or be concerned about how concerned he was. "You were _that_ worried?"

Minghao's lips draw into a straight line. A look of hurt crosses his eyes as he gently picks up a piece of aluminium foil. Shit.

"I'm totally fine now," Wonwoo rushes to amend, and slaps himself internally. "I always was fine. Really. Relax." Curse his inability to apologise straight up when most needed.

Avoiding someone you like just because you can’t handle liking them? That’s the worst, most selfish thing anyone could do.

He bites his lip. He's not great at apologising, but he can definitely make up for his wrongdoings. “Wanna go out and get something to eat?” 

Minghao meets his gaze, briefly, from across the coffee table. 

  


  


  


  


  


They end up at the McDonald’s three minutes away. 

“How fitting,” Wonwoo remarks. 

Minghao gives him a weird look and takes his wrist, walking them over to the counter. He never once let go of him, even as they placed their orders. Wonwoo thinks he’ll never quite forget the warmth of Minghao’s fingers slotted between his. 

They sit at a table below a TV mumbling a loop of music videos from the 2000s, the volume on so low it’s basically mute. Wonwoo got an apple pie. Minghao’s munching away at his burger. He occasionally kicks a leg out to nudge Wonwoo in the shin for no particular reason other than the fact that he is Minghao and he is playfully affectionate at times. 

It hurts how much Wonwoo had missed that.

“This is crap,” Minghao says. “I shouldn’t do this. I was on a no-fast-food diet.” 

“You were?” Wonwoo is genuinely surprised. “Dieting? _You_? Skinniest person I know besides me?” 

Minghao rolls his eyes. He’s squeezing small blobs of ketchup onto the tips of some of Wonwoo’s fries and stealing them. “It’s for health reasons. I don’t want clogged arteries. Not everyone diets to lose weight, dummy.”

“Well it looks like you’ve fully given up on it.” Minghao pouts sourly. Wonwoo smiles. “Look at you go.”

Minghao sighs, popping a fry into his mouth. “What did you mean when you said this place was fitting?”

_Odd how we romanticise places solely because of the things we do there._

_Or because of the people you’re with._

Wonwoo wipes his mouth with a napkin before answering. “Because,” he says, “McDonald’s the place you go to die.”

“But I don’t want to die.”

“I do,” Wonwoo jests. 

“Okay, Wednesday Addams.” Minghao resumes eating his fries. Unconsciously or not, he hooks their right ankles together underneath the table. His left foot takes a swing and hits Wonwoo’s shin. Wonwoo inhales painfully.

“What the hell was that?” he squeaks.

“You’re so morbid sometimes,” Minghao says.

“You’re so unnecessarily violent sometimes!” 

“You adore me, though.”

 _More than you and I realised, my friend._ “That’s a strong word.”

Minghao picks up a napkin and throws it at him, face contorted into a not-smile. 

  


  


  


  


  


**Creeping into midnight**

“Piggybacking is the most primitive mode of transportation, don’t you think?”

Minghao puffs out a breath and hikes Wonwoo further up his back. Wonwoo’s bent, lanky legs are dangling over his sides, arms resting on his shoulders, fingers intertwined in front of his chest. He’ll never get used to the way in which Wonwoo has zero smoothness when delving into a topic of interest, but, well, it’s part of the enjoyment of being with him. “What…”

“I don’t have any evidence of this but I’m very into the idea of cavemen carrying each other on their backs occasionally,” Wonwoo barrels on. “They’ve got to have done that.” 

“Who are you talking to?” Minghao asks.

“You, who else?”

“I’m not listening.”

“Well you’re replying, so you _are_ listening.”

“I’m gonna let go of you.” 

“No you’re not,” Wonwoo says, but tightens his hold around his chest. Minghao rolls his eyes. It was an empty threat. They’ve done this a million times since they met and not once has Minghao ever dropped him, or had any intentions to. The first time was because Wonwoo collapsed while walking from class and could barely walk without seeing stars. (“It’s just hypotension,” he croaked out later, back in the dorms, when Minghao asked him if he’s going to die on him. Minghao told him to stop talking before disappearing into the kitchen to refill his glass of water.) Then it just kept happening.

“Idiot.”

“Rude,” Wonwoo tuts. 

“Whatever.” Minghao kicks a can out of the way. “I missed you.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo smiles a little. “Yeah?”

“Of course I do,” Minghao scoffs. “I had other friends to talk to, but I’m glad to have my roommate back.” He gives Wonwoo a small jostle. “Are you feeling better now? What happened?” 

In a sense, he is. He’s okay with coming to terms with his feelings for Minghao. But at the same time, he’s so far away from being fine, because what does he do now with this revelation? Does he stay the same old him? Do they stay the same old them? “I’m okay.”

“Did you miss me too?”

“Yes.”

“You know you can come to me for anything, right?” Minghao asks. “I’ll listen and help out. Right?”

Wonwoo holds on tighter. _Can you help me with this goopy crush?_ “I know. But people deal with things differently.”

“I know. To be frank, I go through most of my problems alone. But even I have my limits. It doesn’t hurt to talk to someone.”

“Okay, okay.” He rests his cheek against the back of Minghao’s head and closes his eyes. It probably would hurt. Just a little bit. 

“Just think of your body as a water tank,” Minghao continues, the drone of his voice somewhat grating yet oddly calming at the same time. “If there’s too much water, it’s bound to overflow.”

“Well, technically, our bodies _are_ water tanks. We’re seventy percent water.”

Minghao sighs. “Okay, Wonwoo.”

  


  


  


  


  


Minghao wants to go bowling. Wonwoo doesn’t, but he wants to spend time with Minghao, so he says okay.

They find out promptly that the bowling alley is closed for renovations. 

“Laaaame,” Wonwoo says.

“Let’s go home, then. I’m getting tired anyway.”

“Laaaame.” Wonwoo paws at Minghao’s shoulders. “Give me your back.”

“Shut up,” Minghao says, and hoists Wonwoo up. 

Seconds later, maybe minutes (it feels like forever and time isn’t real), Minghao hears him say, “Hey.” 

An animal squeaks somewhere, shrill and tight, then flies off with a series of noisy flapping. Minghao stops in his tracks. “Was that a bat?”

Wonwoo pauses. “I think so. Wait, I have a question. And I’d like you to give me an honest answer.” 

“Okay.” Minghao resumes walking. 

“Are we on a date?”

And the world as he knows it falls beneath him. 

  


  


  


  


  


Nope, false alarm, it’s just the way his right eye suddenly spasms. 

“Wh…” Minghao starts. “What?” 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says. “Um – this is weird, isn’t it? It’s just that, I’ve been having these thoughts on my mind –” 

Minghao breathes in and stops walking again. “I’m gonna let go of you.”

“Is that a threat or – oh – okay, it’s not.” 

With the weight of Wonwoo off him, Minghao can think clearer. Wonwoo stands a few steps away, hair mussed from the wind, hands behind his back. He’s chewing on the inside of his mouth, looking like he kind of regrets bringing anything up. 

Minghao tries to keep his voice level. “What did you just ask me?”

“I asked you if you think we’re on a –”

“I know that.” 

“Oh.” Wonwoo blinks. “Okay.” 

“Just… how am I supposed to answer that?” Minghao asks, exploding a little. Well, there goes his chill. “Do _you_ think this is a date?” 

“I guess. I don’t know. I think it is? But I asked you first.” 

“Well… no,” Minghao says slowly, eyes shifting down. 

Wonwoo feels his heart drop. “No?”

Minghao runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re my roommate. And a good friend. So, like… no.” 

That was probably one of the few times Wonwoo has ever heard Minghao say “like” as a filler word. Minghao _never_ uses filler words. “Was that an honest answer?” he asks.

Minghao looks bewildered and frustrated. “Sure.” 

“Are you nervous?”

Minghao brings a hand up to his chest, ghosting around that area. His eyes flit towards Wonwoo a lot, but it never quite stays. “I think so.” 

“I think I’m getting second hand nerves,” Wonwoo says.

“What… what is this?” Minghao asks, arm dropping to his side. 

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo bites his lip. “I just want answers.”

“Well… I just gave you one, so give me one back. Why’d you suddenly ask me that?” 

Hysteria takes over for two seconds, forcing laughter out of Wonwoo. “Christ.” He doubles over, hiding his face into his jacket, and maybe that’s why the words flow out of his throat so fast and so sudden. “It’s ‘cause I think I like you.” 

  


  


  


  


  


Near-empty street. Stores closed hours ago. Steady, buzzing streetlamps.

Minghao wishes he could be as calm, cool, and collected as the nighttime. He wishes he could be as calm, cool, and collected as he taught himself to be. All it took was four, five, seven, _whatever_ words out of his roommate’s mouth, out of Jeon Wonwoo’s mouth, to tear all that crap away.

_It’s ‘cause I think I like you._

  


  


  


  


  


The story goes as such so far: 1) Xu Minghao (21) just got confessed to at some street near his house. 2) Jeon Wonwoo (also 21), his roommate of a year, was the one who did the confessing. 3) Wonwoo realises that it was a very crap confession, and now he is crouching on the ground, head buried between his knees and wishing for swift death, feeling Minghao’s gaze on him and his pathetic posture.

  


  


  


  


  


**Midnight**

“You… _think_ you like me?” 

Like a turtle, Wonwoo slowly brings his head up from where it was hidden in his arms. “Yes?”

Minghao lets out a laugh. It’s ugly and out of exasperation. He rubs his face, tired all of a sudden. “Since _when_?” 

“Would you like a short answer or a long answer?”

“Wonwoo!”

“What?”

“Just answer me!”

“I’m thinking, sorry, I… I’m pretty sure it was since last year, when we met? It didn’t happen instantaneously, though?” Wonwoo bites his lip, stopping himself. Minghao notices the dusting of red across his face when he looks back at him. “I didn’t mean confess like this,” he says, voice tighter than normal. “I just want closure. You don’t have to like me back, obviously. But I’ve been having these thoughts about you and I’m bad at explaining myself, but I’ve been confused, and the only plausible –” 

“Was this because of that night?” Minghao interrupts quietly, and Wonwoo falls silent.

“What?”

“Oh God.” Minghao cranes his neck up to the sky. “That night, like a week ago, when you caught me in my –”

“Oh, _no_.” Wonwoo reddens even more, shaking his head. Then he stops. And thinks about it. “Maybe. It might’ve prompted something.” He tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. “I wouldn’t really doubt it.” 

Minghao lets out a choked up sort of yell and buries his face into his hands. Wonwoo watches the top of his head, the little whorl in his hair, and tries to hide the disappointment dripping out of his voice.

“Like I said, you don’t have to like me back…”

“You’re _unbelievable_ ,” Minghao snaps, looking at him. 

“Unbe… huh?” Wonwoo expected a glare, or a hard stare, but all he’s getting are big, sad eyes, ones that harbour more disappointment than anything. He stares, confused. “What?”

“I like you too!” 

…Oh.

_Oh._

Minghao would not – could not – look at him. “I’ve liked you ever since last year, when we started rooming together. I was trying not to show anything because it’d be weird since you’re my roommate, but – and – but it took – you had to catch me jacking off at three in the morning to realise that _you_ liked _me_ too?” His sudden outburst takes Wonwoo out for a spin, but he’s mostly fixated on the first thing he said. 

_I’ve liked you ever since last year._

Oh wow. Wowie. _Wowww_.

“Stop saying wow,” Minghao says.

Fuck, did he say all that out loud? “Sorry,” he says. “Um. Wow.” There’s a floaty feeling in Wonwoo’s head, as if someone had pumped it full of air. 

Minghao liked him. Minghao _likes_ him. Present tense because he _still_ does. And Wonwoo _likes him back._ Wonwoo’s always been better at literature than mathematics but he’s pretty sure that that’s a formula that yields one big result right there. 

“You…” Wonwoo points to Minghao, then towards himself. “Me?” 

“Yeah,” Minghao says, rather sadly. 

He can hear nothing but the sound of his crazy beating heart. When Wonwoo started the semester, he really didn't think he’d be crouching on an empty sidewalk at night with his roommate after having blurted out the repressed feelings he had for him, and then immediately getting a confession back that’s equally as crap and sudden. But he is. 

“You know,” he says, “when I get really overwhelmed, my face loses its ability to express feelings, which is why I may look upset or tired. But rest assured it’s not your fault. I also ramble. Which, as you can see, is sort of what I’m doing right now.”

“...Great. Thanks.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to calm down. “Firstly for catching you in, um, your room, and… for being slow.” 

“ _Really_ slow,” Minghao says. “Snails are jealous.” 

Wonwoo’s lips curl into a small, sheepish smile. He scuffs the toe of his shoe into the pavement. “This could have gone a lot worse.”

Minghao looks up at him, staring for a moment. “I guess,” he finally says. “We could’ve been studying for exams or something. Could you imagine the stress?”

“Yeah. We could’ve.” Wonwoo rubs his nose, heart feeling light and airy and whatever. Minghao likes him back. Minghao has always liked him. “It’s weird,” he mutters. “This. This is weird.”

“Maybe that’s how we’re both meant to be. _Weird_.” He didn’t think Minghao would hear that. When Wonwoo doesn’t reply, Minghao crosses his arms petulantly. “What? Am I wrong?”

Wonwoo shrugs. Minghao shrugs. 

“Whatever. I accept your apology,” he says. “In fact, I don’t think you even needed one. Who can blame you for being slow?”

“I… I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better.”

Minghao smiles. “Oh well. You got your closure and I got mine. Easy. Right?”

How Minghao of Minghao to internalise emotions at the speed of light and let them roll off his narrow back as smooth as day. It’s not as easy as that, Wonwoo wants to say, but keeps it to himself. Wonwoo thinks that’s what he likes most about Minghao. He’s a drama king sometimes, but only on the surface; deep down, he’s enviably level-headed. In this moment, and all other moments before that, Wonwoo is certain he wants to be more like that too. Not just yet, not right now, but what’s done is done. Right now, Wonwoo doesn’t have to dance around Minghao or his feelings anymore.

And it is utterly relieving. 

“Well, now what?” Wonwoo flicks his gaze around Minghao’s brows. He looks back at him, bright and just a little on the soft side of mean. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do we hold hands… kiss… prance off into the moonlight…”

“I’d say we hold hands, prance off into the moonlight, and _then_ kiss.”

“Oh, wow, we’re flirting, aren’t we? This is flirting?”

“You started it,” Minghao says.

Wonwoo picks out a piece of string from Minghao’s hair. “We should head back.”

Minghao snorts. “Wanna hold hands?”

“I’d much prefer a piggyback ride.” 

“Fine.” Minghao turns around, throwing Wonwoo a look over his shoulder.

Warmth floods Wonwoo’s insides as he secures himself onto Minghao’s back. “The moon’s huge tonight,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

Minghao looks up at the sky, lifting him up and holding tight. “Oh, pretty. It’s competing against you.” 

Wonwoo feels his own heart go thud-thud-thud against Minghao’s back, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way before. He could float away. Take Minghao with him. Float even farther. Oh no, who has he become? 

“If I die on this journey,” Minghao says, “just know you can have all my possessions.”

“Even the shiba inu figurines?”

“Oh, definitely them. Especially them.”

“Perfect. Onwards, my steed.”

Was it okay that it was that easy? Wonwoo figures it is. Perhaps, just for once, he’ll hold off on compartmentalising for now. Because it’s Minghao, and, well, he’s always suited Wonwoo just fine.

“Oh, by the way,” Wonwoo says, after a moment’s silence.

“What?”

“I really _am_ sorry about that time.” Minghao’s face darkens. “I don’t actually know if you’re okay –”

“Stop talking about it and I will be.” 

“Right. Good call.” Wonwoo nods. “Smart call.”

Yeah. It’s all okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> things i imagine would go down post-this au: seungcheol discovers his inner father when he finds out they’re dating. soonyoung reconnects with wonu and ends up befriending minghao. 
> 
> dnfjsdnfjsdfs that last scene was such a mess i’m sorry.. i was goin back and forth willy nilly between hao’s and wonu’s povs i hope it wasn’t strange or confusing. i got tired of editing (shun the sloth! shun the sloth!) but i’ll try not to do that in the future. sorry for the.. weird pacing.. but thanks for making it to the end <3 give these twiggyboys your blessings


End file.
